Chicken Chit-Chat, Shoulder Mounts & Pole Gods (3566-3607)


It has been the craziest week. I came home to immediately find myself host to a Pole God and hit the ground running in the best of ways. These’s nothing quite like back-to-back workshops, dog-walking duty and the Boulder lifestyle to snap me back into training mode.

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You’d think I was teaching the workshop, the way I’m in the middle and all. Picture whore. Guilty.

David C. Owen’s masterful workshops inspired me to set my bar higher and take on the dreaded Shoulder Mount as my next goal. It’s a move I had written off because while technique is a huge factor in mastering it, you must condition your body and there’s simply no cheating it. Unfortunately the conditioning isn’t pretty – or fun – to do. Just lots of grunting and sweating on my back.

But if I can achieve some modicum of David’s skill (seen at :52 in the video), I will have accomplished something huge and probably achieved all my fitness goals in the meantime.

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David was the perfect houseguest and a lovely person. Me? I’m a creeper. I did his laundry and while I was folding his jeans I peaked at the size, which happened to be the same as mine which was kind of thrilling except for the fact that he is six inches taller than me and I had to fight the urge to try them on, just to see. That would be weird, right? David, I DID NOT TRY ON YOUR PANTS.

In addition to the unexpected pole workshops and starting up my ceramics practice again, Testiclese asked me if he could bring some of our chickens to his kindergarten class as show-and-tell, which apparently has become an antiquated term, gone the way of sitting “Indian Style” (which I can kind of understand why it was phased out in favor of the less racially charged, yet really retar…uh…stupid, “Criss-Cross-Applesauce”). So help me, PC or not, you can’t tell me to not squat like a Vietnamese refugee.

Aaaanyway, now show-and-tell is called sharing or in Testiclese’s case, Chit-Chat. Don’t ask me why. I got a reminder from his teacher that today, at 8:30 in the a.m., I had to schlep a couple birds to school for a, don’t laugh, Chicken-Chit-Chat. Say that three times fast.

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Much to the kids’ extreme delight, old Dinky (the white one) kept pooping on the rug. Hence the new name for the day’s educational event. The Shicken-Shit-Shat. Groan.

Oh God, I can barely bring myself to say it. Time to cut the crap, no pun intended. Really.

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Retired sheets and pillowcases (5) that have bizarre stains on them. The joys of running a vacation rental. DONATE.

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We have multiple copies of this book so I’m DONATING this one. Plus, I don’t think it is the boys’ thing. I am the first person to suggest they branch out of sci-fi and dragon lit, but everyone says to let them read what they want. I’m going to use that logic to justify my tabloid consumption.

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I was looking for a smaller vase and I found this inside one. Why? WHY? Why do I have shit like this in my house? TRASH.

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Also in the vase. TRASH. This is just an example of how failing to take 30 seconds to properly dispose of something leads to crap everywhere.

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What’s this? No, not my desiccated fingertip, the tiny glass thing! It’s the broken tip from a glass salt shovel that goes in a salter. This is significant because it has been sitting on my kitchen windowsill for-ev-er. Why? Because picking it up and throwing it away is just too much work. Makes sense, right? TRASH.

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Ear drops from when I went to Puerta Vallarta four years ago. TRASH.

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Shame.

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The underbelly of my porch furniture is always good for a few yuks.

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Freaky mask. It’s been sitting outside for so long I suspect it is home to a nest of Black Widows. I’m not going to find out. TRASH.

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Some art project one of the kids brought home last summer. I’m fairly certain the Statue of Limitations on kid’s projects has expired on this baby. TRASH.

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New York Times Sunday Magazines from a long time ago. There was a time, before kids, when Zeb and I would lounge on the couch in the shade, napping and doing puzzles together. Those were intoxicating days of love. The love lives on but these are TRASH.

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A compost bucket with Biobags. I feed all my edible scraps to the chickens, everything else just goes on the compost pile. Does anyone want this?

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A box of twelve honey jars. Zeb must have picked them up for our honeybees, except we missed the boat on harvesting honey, had to leave it in the hive and then the bees bred some more queens as a response to the abundance and they all swarmed off to the neighborhood. I helped catch one swarm and gave it to Chris, owner of The Cup. I’m going to give him these jars and maybe I’ll see some of that honey after all.


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This is a bag full of cabinet hardware. Zeb picked them up because they are pricey. The thing is, we don’t need any more of them. But I’m going to try to sell them. They are $7 each new.

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Some have mounting plates, some don’t. They are sold separately anyway. I’m going to Craigslist them for $20 for all ten.

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Clips for bicycle pedals. Zeb uses clipless and I am strictly a ’round towner type. FREE.

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Vintage Snoopy plastic dog dish. A quick eBay check shows that ones in pristine condition (which this one clearly is not in) goes for less than $8, well below my threshold. FREE.

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A flower vase. I think I’ll drop it off at a florists and they can reuse it.

Featured image courtesy of i-thaphithin.tumblr.com

16 thoughts on “Chicken Chit-Chat, Shoulder Mounts & Pole Gods (3566-3607)

  1. “Picture whore”? Whatever, Viv, but you are hands-down the prettiest woman in that photo. BTW & since you’ve mentioned it, it’s interesting to note in the picture that your waistline appears to be at exactly the same height as your pole-dancing guy-friend’s. He has clearly got a way longer torso, though, accounting for the 6-inch difference. Plus, the pants he’s wearing there seem a mite too long…

    • Yes, he has a long torso (we had this discussion yesterday) which is an asset for aerial work. While it’s nice of you to say I’m the prettiest, I think you are biased. What really matters is that most of the women could shoulder mount, alas, my ass was stuck on the ground. And what matters even more is that we were all there, working really hard and having a great time.

      • You’re right, I am biased. Furthermore, these days my eye is typically drawn more toward the somewhat older, aka “mature” women in the crowd.

  2. The cabinet hardware photo looks like a promo photo for Equus (and the horses decided they needed hats) with a couple flying dancers thrown in for good measure.

  3. Actually, one of the posters IS Radcliffe. That one’s a bit odd, disturbing, or something. I cant come with the adjective I want but you’ll see what I mean.

  4. It was the one with his nipples as the eyes of the horse. Eww, just a bit creepy. But the poster with the graphic of the horse head looks just like your cabinet hardware, no?

  5. Seriously?! I just died laughing. “DAVID I DID NOT TRY ON YOUR PANTS!”….If I ever make it to CO I am going to find your studio 🙂 I am so new to pole, but so far looooove it.

  6. Pingback: A Cute Vagina (4441-4446) | Vivienne's Process of Elimination

  7. Pingback: Twenty Pole Dancers Walk Into a Studio (4460-4497) | Vivienne's Process of Elimination

Really? No way.

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